


Sad Song Remedy

by boonies



Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boonies/pseuds/boonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lodge is full of shipper ahjummas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sad Song Remedy

Based on Yoochun and Jaejoong actually spending Valentine's/Lunar New Year together, just the two of them, for three days and two nights, no joke [ [x](http://dbskkingdom.blogspot.com/2010/02/trans-100214-jaejoong-and-yoochun-spent.html?m=1) ]

 

 

*

 

"I think they think we're a couple."

 

Yoochun drops his bag to the floor with a yawn. "A couple of what?"

 

Jaejoong shuts the door. "...a couple of dudes banging each other."

 

Yoochun makes a face at the cabinets, then deadpans, "You did book the newlyweds room."

 

Frustrated, Jaejoong throws himself on the bed with all the importance of a spoiled princess. "I didn't know it was—" He lands with a soft thump, swallowed by rustling covers. "They said it was the only room with a bed and I didn't feel like sleeping on the..." He sinks under a pillow with a pout and offers a muffled, "Fine. I'll go home. You stay."

 

Yoochun wasn't really listening to half of that so he raises a nonchalant eyebrow and says, "We shared a room for seven years. I don't care."

 

He almost adds _and it's the last time we'll share one_ , but they're here to forget shit and to recharge and not reflect on sad things and so Yoochun just unpacks.

 

*

 

Everything seems pretty normal until their first communal meal.

 

Yoochun's sitting next to Jaejoong and everyone's openly staring at them.

 

For a moment, Yoochun worries Jaejoong is right and that most of these people think they're a _couple_ and this is the countryside and everyone's probably brutally homophobic and awful, but then one of the ahjummas piles extra meat on his plate and says, "Your skin is very nice."

 

"Nice-skin couple," an ahjussi with a terrible perm comments in English.

 

"No, we're not..." Yoochun starts but the meat keeps piling on, "...okay, sure, thank you."

 

*

 

A grumpy girl corners them on the way to the pool.

 

The kid's probably no older than thirteen but she's sizing them up with all the severity of a calculating hawk.

 

"So which one of you tops?" she asks mildly and Yoochun covers her mouth so quickly his hand breaks several olympic records.

 

Calm, the kid peels his hand off. "Not you, then? I thought because you were taller..."

 

"He's not taller," Jaejoong argues, brows knitting.

 

" _That's_ what you have a problem with?" Yoochun snaps.

 

"And my friends and me," the kid continues, undeterred, turning bored eyes to Jaejoong, "think you're a bottom 'cause you're really pretty."

 

Jaejoong beams, practically shedding glitter everywhere.

 

" _Please_ , hyung," Yoochun stresses desperately, pleading to the heavens, "try to _process_ what she's saying."

 

Jaejoong shakes himself. "Right. Sorry. No, yeah, we should correct her."

 

"That's what I was—" Yoochun starts but Jaejoong bends down to the kid's level.

 

"Just because I'm pretty," he says softly, and Yoochun can almost swear manga roses are blooming all around him, "doesn't mean I'm not a man."

 

There we go, Yoochun thinks with relief, and readies himself for a lengthy explanation laced with a healthy dose of reality.

 

"I'm definitely not the ~uke here," Jaejoong finishes brightly.

 

The kid pauses.

 

"That makes sense," she nods to herself and whips out her phone. "Yoochun-oppa's hair is longer anyway, so."

 

She strolls away with a lazy attempt at texting, and Jaejoong straightens and locks eyes with Yoochun, clearly expecting praise.

 

Yoochun bites back a groan and, in all likelihood, a second-degree murder attempt.

 

"You forgot to tell her you're not topping _me_ ," he points out, outraged.

 

"...it was implied..."

 

"Now she thinks we're having sex."

 

"She's twelve, she thinks sex is holding hands."

 

"I don't think she thinks that at all, I think she was updating her fanfiction—"

 

Jaejoong pats his shoulder.

 

"Yoochunnie," he says, sounding wise but looking like a crazy person, "you worry too much."

 

*

 

The ~pool is more of a sauna.

 

And Jaejoong hates saunas.

 

Yoochun tries not to enjoy his misery so much, but Jaejoong's sweating uncontrollably and pawing at the glass separating their sections, hair flat and lips wet.

 

He draws _help_ on the fogged up window.

 

Yoochun's grin stretches across his entire face.

 

He draws a neat _suck it_ in reply.

 

"You shouldn't be mean to your boyfriend," a tiny boy lectures him, tugging at his shorts.

 

Yoochun's on the cool side of the sauna and apparently, he's not alone because a handful of people have been watching him smirk and grin and make stupid faces at Jaejoong with single-minded focus for quite a while.

 

"Yah, hyung, what if he dumps you," the little boy says with concern. "My noona dumped her boyfriend 'cause he made fun of her hair. It doesn't take much, okay."

 

Yoochun looks down at the boy.

 

Something's really wrong with the kids at this lodge.

 

"He's right," a lady older than language says from her bench, retying her head towel. "You'll get dumped, boy."

 

...and also, with old people.

 

Something's really wrong with everyone.

 

Properly shamed by the nagging crowd, Yoochun reluctantly draws a half-assed heart on the partition.

 

Jaejoong narrows his eyes, unamused.

 

*

 

Later, in the adjoining jjimjilbang, Jaejoong cracks an egg over Yoochun's head.

 

"Four separate ahjummas asked about the hickey you gave me."

 

Frowning, Yoochun peels an egg and hands it to Jaejoong. "I didn't give you one."

 

Oddly aggravated, Jaejoong sighs. He bares his neck and whines, "I tried to explain I was _born_ with it—"

 

Absentmindedly, Yoochun reaches out to fix the towel on Jaejoong's head, tucking his messy bangs under and out of the way.

 

Several ahjummas sitting nearby start furiously fanning themselves.

 

"We should ban young couples," one of them says, not even trying to keep her voice down. "Who wants to sign my petition."

 

Another one pats her back with a bitter-sounding sigh. "Let's leave the pretty children alone. They'll get old and ugly soon enough."

 

"The girl is kind of... homely, though," one of the heavyset ladies complains judgmentally, sucking on an egg. "Comparatively."

 

Oh.

 

So.

 

They think _Yoochun's_ a girl.

 

Which explains some things.

 

Kind of.

 

Meanwhile, Jaejoong is giddy and grinning and gross. "Hey. They think I'm prettier."

 

Yoochun slips up and shrugs, "You are."

 

Jaejoong pauses.

 

" _They_ think you are," Yoochun amends quickly, poking at a growing pile of shells and wondering about future indigestion. "While _I'm_ apparently hideous, a girl, a bottom—"

 

"You kind of give off that vibe."

 

Yoochun twitches. "But I'm straight."

 

Jaejoong offers him a dismissive little wave. "Well, you know, if you weren't."

 

"But I am."

 

Crabby, Jaejoong scowls. "Well. Hypothetically, if you weren't."

 

Yoochun's kinda offended. "I wouldn't be... that."

 

Slowly, Jaejoong meets his gaze, eyes dark. "What _would_ you be?"

 

...fuck.

 

"Is it really that, like..." Yoochun starts, unspeakably uncomfortable. "Black and white?"

 

Jaejoong's voice deepens. "No."

 

Inexplicably, Yoochun feels himself starting to freak out.

 

"Okay, I don't know... I guess—" he rambles, trying to backpedal and get back on track at the same time, "I'd try it all."

 

Jaejoong is staring at him as though he's possibly the next thing on the menu. "...like what..."

 

Yoochun means to change the topic because what the fuck is even happening, but he finds himself saying, "Like, I don't know. You tell me."

 

"He'd rather _show_ you," a jjimjilbang ahjumma says casually and drops off another bowl of eggs.

 

She leaves and takes Yoochun's ability to can with her.

 

Possibly Jaejoong's ability to can, too, because he doesn't say or do anything for two hours.

 

*

 

"I'll..." Yoochun starts awkwardly, "sleep on the floor."

 

He half-expects Jaejoong to argue, to tell him, nah, we can share the bed, it's fine, it's not the first time, but Jaejoong just nods hastily, wordlessly, and burrows under the covers.

 

Fully clothed.

 

Sort of really disappointed, Yoochun unfolds a bedroll, grumbling.

 

*

 

He wakes up before dawn, curled up by the bed, tangled in the rug and the bedroll and a random sheet.

 

Jaejoong's face is firmly planted in the mattress but his arm is hanging off the bed.

 

His fingers are curled in Yoochun's hair.

 

*

 

The cleaning lady comes in when they're getting dressed.

 

She doesn't knock because she is approximately older than all the dinosaurs.

 

Jaejoong's in the middle of telling Yoochun he shouldn't wear those pants with those flip-flops—or wear flip-flops in general, when she fluffs a feather-duster in Jaejoong's face.

 

"No fighting," she says in some weird dialect. "Honeymoon. No fighting."

 

Yoochun can't stop laughing long enough to correct her.

 

*

 

"Okay," Yoochun announces, slamming the door behind him, "you were right."

 

Jaejoong looks up from his laptop, probably mid-purchase, sanrio's pink banner illuminating the room.

 

"Sure," he nods. "About?"

 

Annoyed, Yoochun leaps onto the bed and slams the laptop shut.

 

Jaejoong opens his mouth in a soundless scream.

 

"They all _definitely_ think we're banging each other," Yoochun grits out.

 

He's crouched opposite Jaejoong on the bed, one sauna slipper pushing into a pillow, and he's kind of shoving a thin foil pack at Jaejoong's face but some old lady just fucking flicked it at him in passing, offering him a mostly toothless grin and what the fuck even, what is wrong with these people.

 

"What the fuck," Jaejoong echoes, grabbing the packet and scowling. "Someone gave you _lube_?"

 

Yoochun pauses.

 

Uh.

 

He was pretty sure it was a condom.

 

"Yeah," he says, trying to inconspicuously read the label.

 

Oh.

 

Maybe there were clues.

 

A big bold _latex-safe_ being one of them.

 

Irritated, Jaejoong closes a tight fist around the foil and grumbles, "Single use packet? _Single_ use?" He huffs, turning offended eyes to Yoochun. "Do they... do they think we have zero stamina?" His voice pitches higher. "These come in packs of _100_ and they just gave us _one_ , what the hell."

 

Yoochun stills.

 

Awkwardness seeps into his bones, so deep he feels them calcify then dissolve, leaving him with nothing but a horrible sense of awareness.

 

Still mumbling to himself, Jaejoong tears the packet open with his teeth and squeezes the contents onto his palm, demonstrating, "...this isn't enough for _any_ thing and it's not even flavored..."

 

But here's the thing.

 

Yoochun's kinda hard.

 

He's kinda so hard his sauna robe feels like an electric fence.

 

The terrycloth rubs him raw with every inhale and so Yoochun tries to stop breathing but his brain's not exactly getting the oxygen it needs anyway, so he lets out a great big exhale and folds himself in a way that, hopefully, isn't too obvious.

 

"—sorry," Jaejoong finishes, spent. He wipes his hand on the covers and moves his laptop to the nightstand.

 

"No, no..." Yoochun starts, running through a list of unattractive things, like entrails and his middle school pictures from Virginia, "that was very... educational. You're very..." his cock throbs like a traitor, "...passionate about... uh. This."

 

Jaejoong kicks him out of the room.

 

*

 

Yoochun's learned his lesson.

 

So he goes to the sauna alone. And he eats lunch alone. And then he sneaks in while Jaejoong's napping and steals his jacket and his pocket change and goes to the arcade.

 

He's in the middle of destroying someone's high score when a pimply-faced high school kid sits down next to him.

 

"Yo," he says and Yoochun's pretty sure this whole town doesn't own a single TV, collectively.

 

Yoochun nods politely then goes back to trying to yank the joystick out of the machine.

 

"Your boyfriend's looking for you," the kid says, loading coins and leaning back into his chair.

 

Yoochun loses a life. "He's not—"

 

"He said if you don't bring the jacket back," the kid yawns, glancing at Yoochun's flashing screen, "he's gonna burn your hats. All of them?" His face falls. "Aw. My high score. Man, _why_."

 

Yoochun goes back to his room, surrenders the jacket, and kicks Jaejoong off the bed to take a nap.

 

*

 

"Shit."

 

Yoochun squints one eye open, sliding the pillow off his face.

 

"Son of a bitch."

 

Yeah, that's definitely Jaejoong's voice.

 

Groggy, Yoochun pats the bed but the space Jaejoong should... _could_ be occupying is empty and cold and depressing, so Yoochun sticks one leg out of the sheets and lets it thump to the floor like a log. The rest of his body follows, primeval ooze-style.

 

Eventually, he manages to stand up, practically imitating the entire evolutionary chain-link of mankind, and drags himself to the bathroom.

 

The door is slightly ajar.

 

"Yah, I've been cursing for five minutes," Jaejoong whines.

 

Wary, Yoochun pushes inside, then pauses, processing.

 

Jaejoong's sitting in a free-standing tub possibly imported from 1876. One hand is groping blindly at the air. The other is trying to unsuccessfully grip the slippery rim of the bathtub. There's approximately sixty metric tons of soapsuds clinging to him.

 

"I just wanted a bubble bath," he says to no one in particular, "and now I'm blind, Yoochunnie, help."

 

Yoochun's lips quirk up.

 

He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms, even if the pose is wasted on Jaejoong.

 

"There's no shower," he says, amused.

 

"I _know_ ," Jaejoong sighs dramatically, "so help me rinse off. Or call poison control." His voice lowers to a desperate, husky moan. "Chun-ah. Please."

 

A really stupid swell of want snakes through Yoochun's gut.

 

So, quietly, he pads over, mindful of the slick tiles, and pulls up a stool behind Jaejoong. There's a decorative bucket nearby so he dunks it in the tub to fill it.

 

His knuckles brush Jaejoong's stomach.

 

"Ah," Jaejoong gasps and somehow, it sounds like a sin-laced rhapsody and a polite request and Yoochun can't think.

 

With a slow, unsure movement, he lifts the small bucket. Soapy water crests over the brim and splashes to the tile but there's enough left to gently pour down the back of Jaejoong's head.

 

Jaejoong seems to freeze and come undone at once.

 

His head lolls forward, chin touching his chest.

 

Yoochun grabs more water.

 

And then he grabs a tiny bottle of shampoo by the windowsill at his back.

 

And then he squeezes a small amount onto his palm.

 

And then he runs steady fingers through Jaejoong's hair.

 

He does all this with a strong sense of _I shouldn't be fucking doing_ _this_ but Jaejoong's toes are poking out of the water at the other end, and Yoochun can see his muscles flexing and tightening in pleasure, can see the barest hint of a smile from this angle, and his lungs fail.

 

It's like trying to suck down a smoothie through a pinched straw and panic builds quickly, so he grunts, "Can you see yet," and the second Jaejoong turns his head and opens his eyes, confused and startled, Yoochun bolts.

 

*

 

 

"No," Yoochun grumbles. "The _other_ end."

 

Jaejoong makes an exasperated noise. "You're pulling too tight."

 

Yoochun yanks with the force of a bulldozer. "TUCK IT IN."

 

"I _AM_ TUCKING IT IN," Jaejoong growls, twisting one knee into the mattress.

 

The fitted sheet snaps off the bed and goes flying across the room.

 

Mournfully, they both watch it flutter to the floor.

 

"Why are we even trying to make the bed," Jaejoong mumbles. "The room service ahjumma will fix it."

 

"I know," Yoochun says, bending to pick the sheet up again, "but she looks like she died ten years ago and I wanna help her out."

 

Jaejoong meets his eyes with a horrified little laugh.

 

"You were thinking the same thing," Yoochun says defensively, "don't even deny it."

 

"I was thinking it," Jaejoong admits, grabbing the other end of the sheet, "but I didn't _say_ it."

 

"Like there's a difference," Yoochun grins and successfully fixes his side of the bed.

 

Jaejoong flattens the sheet down, looking impressed. "Not _everyone_ can read my mind, you know."

 

Yoochun knows.

 

He takes a step back to admire the final result.

 

His shoulders slump. "We're gonna die in army."

 

"Those... sort of look like military corners..." Jaejoong supplies but they're both probably mentally charting future barrack escape routes.

 

*

 

"For my honeymoon," one of the kitchen ahjummas offers before dinner, "my husband took me to Vietnam."

 

Yoochun shucks another ear or bushel of corn and tosses it into the basket between them. "That sounds... romantic?"

 

The ahjumma narrows one eye. "...during the war..."

 

Yoochun snorts then hurriedly tries to look remorseful.

 

"You're lucky yours took you here," ahjumma says knowingly, stuffing another batch of corn in Yoochun's lap. "We have hot springs. And no fighting."

 

Yoochun cuts himself on the dried husk. "No, he's not my... yeah, okay."

 

*

 

 

"I went to get a haircut," Jaejoong says from the door, "and I'm pretty sure this whole town is insane."

 

Yoochun doesn't even look up from his phone game. "Did they think we're married."

 

"That's not even _legal_ ," Jaejoong mumbles, "why is everyone—how—do we _look_ married?"

 

Yoochun shuts his phone off and sits up. "I was looking for that sweater."

 

Jaejoong glances down. "Oh, right. Meant to tell you I'd be borrowing it but I couldn't find you, so."

 

"I was shucking corn."

 

Jaejoong cocks his head. "Of course you were. 'Cause that's what normal people do in winter. On vacation." He plops down on the bed, Yoochun's sweater stretching around his shoulders. "I'm out of clothes."

 

"Because you only brought enough for one day."

 

"I was gonna wear yours."

 

"And what was _I_ gonna wear."

 

Jaejoong grins so beautifully Yoochun sort of hates him but then he looks at his socks— _Jaejoong's socks_ —and then he looks at Jaejoong's belt— _Yoochun's belt_ —and realizes, fuck.

 

They're kinda married.

 

*

 

"Noooo," the owner ahjumma cries, "you're guests, you shouldn't be cleaning up—"

 

Jaejoong gives her a kind smile and stacks the dishes.

 

To ante up, Yoochun wipes the grill off with a smarmy grin. "It's the least we could do when you personally catered to us with such a wonderful dinner~"

 

Jaejoong gives him a covert _you big greasy suckup_ glare and turns his back.

 

As he turns, though, his muscles bunch up, his shoulder blades poke through the threadbare t-shirt, his jaw clenches attractively, and Yoochun burns himself on the grill.

 

The ahjumma sighs wistfully.

 

"Why don't you ever burn yourself for me," she yells at her husband, who's lurking behind the kitchen counter with an egg-stained spatula.

 

"...because I don't like going to the doctor..." comes the weary response.

 

Mortified, Yoochun sucks his finger into his mouth, hoping to relieve at least the physical ache if not the mental scarring.

 

Jaejoong bears down on him almost instantly. "Let me see."

 

Automatically, Yoochun obeys.

 

Brows knitted, Jaejoong stares at the burn, contemplating, and then just...

 

Wraps his mouth around Yoochun's finger.

 

"Why don't you ever do that for me?" the ahjumma yells again.

 

"...because you never wash your hands..."

 

*

 

They're shuffling back to their room, red-faced.

 

Yoochun can still feel the ghost of Jaejoong's lips on his finger, only his brain is providing unnecessary suggestions and questions, like, hey, but what if his mouth was on your mouth, or your neck, or your cock, what if he—

 

"I hope there's no articles about this," Jaejoong ventures quietly, keeping step.

 

Their shoulders brush. "It's cool. I don't think they know what the internet is yet."

 

Jaejoong is quiet for a moment.

 

They pass several rice-papered doors and then he opens his mouth and says, "I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

 

Yoochun's ribcage collapses. "We don't have a couch."

 

"The floor. I'll sleep on the floor."

 

*

 

Yoochun can't sleep.

 

It's too hot.

 

Or cold.

 

Or humid.

 

Or arid.

 

Or whatever, it's just impossible, okay.

 

Frustrated, he kicks the covers off and flips to his side and bores holes in the dark curve of Jaejoong's back.

 

Jaejoong's sleeping. On the floor. Facing away. Without a care in the world. He's not being tortured by his brain. He's not craving Yoochun's hands and mouth and things. He's not painfully hard.

 

Because Jaejoong's not a horrible person.

 

Yoochun is definitely a horrible person.

 

The whole point of this trip was to unwind and forget the lawsuit and to just recharge their batteries and all it took for Yoochun to snap was a handful of people assuming he's... already snapped.

 

But snapped he has and so now all he can think about is sex.

 

A metric shit ton of sex; a marathon session that leaves at least one of the people involved limping for a day; long and slow or quick and rough, something, _anything_.

 

And he's trapped here and he can't go out and seduce a fangirl because all the fangirls in a mile-wide radius are surprisingly cool with him seducing his _hyung_.

 

With a devastated little groan, Yoochun sits up and slips his feet to the floor.

 

He plans to go... seduce himself in the bathroom, but the moonlight catches on Jaejoong's cheek and eyelashes and lips, all shimmery and ethereal and annoying, and Yoochun pauses.

 

The bastard's just too pretty.

 

He's so pretty Yoochun would secretly choose him over anyone in the world.

 

Which is terrifying because Yoochun is straight, straighter than a fixed line. He's so straight he should be used in geometry or algebra or whatever mathematical course is required to pass high school. He's a textbook example of straight.

 

But Jaejoong.

 

Jaejoong is.

 

Yoochun doesn't even know what Jaejoong is, except everything.

 

"Shit," he groans and kneels by the edge of Jaejoong's shiny bedroll.

 

Yoochun's seen some of the guys Jaejoong's hooked up with and it's not like he has a specific type so maybe. Maybe they can get wasted. Maybe they can make a stupid drunk mistake. Maybe this can be a one time thing and they can write it off as being super sad about the breakup even though Yoochun can't make himself be sad when he still has Junsu and when he still has Jaejoong.

 

When Jaejoong's promised him forever.

 

"Seriously," Jaejoong whispers, not turning around, "just touch me already."

 

Yoochun's heart capsizes.

 

Tentatively, he reaches out and brushes Jaejoong's bangs away, then slowly rolls him to his back to examine his face.

 

Jaejoong stares back shamelessly.

 

"I don't want the bed to be mad at us," Yoochun starts. "It's for newlyweds. It has expectations. It was in the pamphlet."

 

Jaejoong's eyes are so dark something in Yoochun's veins boils over and spreads everywhere.

 

"So get on the bed, Chun-ah."

 

Breathless, Yoochun scrambles up and then Jaejoong's rising, too, advancing on him with a scary sort of hunger.

 

It destroys the last of Yoochun's doubts and insecurities and sanity and so he digs his fingers into Jaejoong's forearms and brings them both down sideways.

 

They fall to the mattress with twin gasps.

 

Yoochun lands on top, panting.

 

His cock is straining against his cotton pajama bottoms and Jaejoong seems to understand because he's tugging them down and off and it helps that neither of them is wearing underwear or shirts, almost like maybe the room is demanding it.

 

One of Jaejoong's legs stretches across the bed, toe poking at the dresser.

 

"Lube," he says distractedly, "I saw a whole bottle."

 

Yoochun forces his brain to focus.

 

Right.

 

Dresser.

 

Drawer.

 

Lube.

 

Under the bottle, there's a fortune cookie-like note and all it says is:

 

_If you use this, Kim Seo-suk owes me ₩10,000._

 

Yoochun laughs stupidly and returns to Jaejoong's arms, burning up.

 

He doesn't know what to do first because his mouth wants to be everywhere but so does his cock and so do his hands, so he presses the bottle into a pillow and puts his lips on Jaejoong's temple, right by a pulse point.

 

Jaejoong's heart seems to be racing to match Yoochun's in the unhealthiest of ways.

 

So Yoochun tries to take his time.

 

It's hard to decide where to start with a face this beautiful, so Yoochun kisses Jaejoong's forehead and skims his lips lower, over the bridge and tip of Jaejoong's nose, presses a soft kiss to each cheek, and lingers by his mouth.

 

With a frustrated whine, Jaejoong catches his face and fuses their lips together.

 

He gives a despairing nip, teeth catching on Yoochun's bottom lip, and grumbles, "It's not a bed for children. It's a bed for _making_ them, Chun-ah, fuck—"

 

Yoochun's eyes crinkle at the corners, and he starts to say _I don't think we can make any_ , but Jaejoong slides his tongue in. He sweeps it across the side of Yoochun's and moans so softly Yoochun almost comes.

 

Instead, he breaks away and stubbornly flattens his tongue and drags it down Jaejoong's jaw, slides it lower with an impossible kind of thirst, unslaked and endless. He mouths around a previously pierced nipple and his hands join in, stroking the soft skin over Jaejoong's ribs.

 

"Fuck," Jaejoong says, arching. His fingers briefly tangle in Yoochun's hair, and Yoochun moves his mouth again, diagonally and across to firm, sculpted abs. His teeth seem to want to help and, in the moonlight, Jaejoong's skin pebbles.

 

"Use it, use, thing, use," Jaejoong says incoherently, pawing for the pillow. The bottle of lube rolls into his palm and he smacks it in Yoochun's general direction.

 

Yoochun's never done this before, not like this, not with a man, so he uncaps the tube with shaky hands, and...

 

There's too much he wants to do.

 

He squirts a small amount of lube between his fingers and brings some to the tip of Jaejoong's leaking cock.

 

Yoochun's seen Jaejoong's cock before, at urinals and group showers and once when he walked in on him jerking off, but he's never seen it like this.

 

Gingerly, he brings his mouth close to the tip, inhaling.

 

The cock twitches and Jaejoong gives a raspy, needy moan, so Yoochun touches his mouth to the slit and smears lube down the shaft with his lips.

 

Jaejoong jerks violently, hands tearing into the sheets.

 

He's making noises Yoochun's never heard before and Yoochun almost wishes they were in the recording booth.

 

But this is a little painful because they're mostly hanging off the bad, too tall for countryside furniture and too awkwardly positioned, so he slips to the floor and his knees hit hard wood and Jaejoong's widen and he scoots his ass back to give Yoochun better access, and then it's perfect.

 

"Who," Jaejoong rasps out, "did you do this to before." His voice is a dangerous mix of what sounds like jealousy and awe. "When. Who."

 

"No one," Yoochun says around his cock. He just knows what _he_ likes and if he likes it, it's inevitable that Jaejoong will like it, too. "Never."

 

Suddenly over-confident, Yoochun tries to take him all in, but there's way too much of Jaejoong and this kind of thing will obviously take practice, so he slips a slick thumb lower.

 

And this part, this part he's never done, but what the hell, it's time to try.

 

He presses the pad of his thumb between Jaejoong's cheeks, trying to keep his mouth working, and experimentally pushes in. Just a little. Just a bit.

 

There's a crazy amount of resistance, but the way Jaejoong lifts off the mattress, cock slipping out of Yoochun's mouth, and squirms and whimpers and if Yoochun thought Jaejoong was pretty before, now Jaejoong is beautiful, unreal, caught and reacting to such a tiny spark of pleasure and fuck, Yoochun can do better.

 

He brings both hands to Jaejoong's hips and steadies him, doesn't let him move, restrains him against the mattress, and goes back to work, slightly distracted by Jaejoong's addiction to waxing.

 

He keeps one hand curled around Jaejoong's hipbone and the other he wraps around the shaft.

 

And then he probably kinda loses his mind because somehow, his tongue is slowly sliding down, lower and lower and lower until Jaejoong is trying to get away and chanting, "No, no, no, Chun-ah, no—"

 

But his knees spread wide. And his cock thickens in Yoochun's hand. So Yoochun nuzzles one cheek, and scrapes his teeth a little when Jaejoong unclenches and then he licks a path toward the center, drunk off Jaejoong's gasps and scent and frenzy. He quickens his pace, hand blurring around the shaft and boldly pokes the tip of his tongue in and flattens the rest of it against surprisingly soft skin and—

 

Jaejoong comes hard.

 

He comes so hard he makes a mess of probably the entire bed or possibly room. He makes a mess of Yoochun and himself and if Yoochun's not seeing things, there's a string of come dripping off his hair and this should be hilarious but all Yoochun feels is very accomplished and so high and—

 

"Liar," Jaejoong babbles, shaking, rubbing at his sweaty face, "you're a liar, you—who did you. Liar."

 

If Yoochun moves, he's going to come or die or both. So he stays where he is for a long moment and tries to regulate his breathing.

 

And then, through a thick haze, Jaejoong is drawing him up, to the bed, in the proper head-pillow position, and wrapping burning fingers around Yoochun's heavy cock. It doesn't take long or much or anything really before Yoochun is spilling into his hands and splattering the covers, groaning helplessly into Jaejoong's neck.

 

*

 

Yoochun wakes up feeling drunk.

 

He's sated and giddy and oblivious as to why.

 

Across the room, his phone is flashing with missed texts and the alarm clock says 3:01 AM and...

 

Jaejoong's curled around him like a koala, hair damp and hands possessive.

 

Frozen, Yoochun rewinds.

 

And dies a million mortified deaths.

 

Okay, so that all happened. The... stuff. And the things.

 

He waits for guilt and some sort of straight guy shame to kick in but all he can think about is Jaejoong's face and how it looked in the moonlight and how there should be a ten volume album about just that.

 

Jaejoong shifts in his sleep, rubbing against Yoochun's side, half-hard.

 

And then Yoochun is half-hard.

 

What the fuck.

 

What the fuck did they put in his water supply. And his food. And this bed. What kind of black magic is this lodge powered by.

 

"Who," Jaejoong murmurs, voice sleep-heavy and addictive, "did you do this with before me."

 

Yoochun grins despite himself.

 

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," he says, maybe too cocky.

 

Jaejoong's grip tightens everywhere so he's not so much a koala as he is an unyielding clamp. He mumbles something incoherent and slaps a cold bottle to Yoochun's chest.

 

Yoochun's pretty sure he knows what it is.

 

His cock definitely knows what it is.

 

Jaejoong loosens his grip just enough for Yoochun to untwist the cap.

 

Hesitant, Yoochun fidgets with the bottle, and asks, accidentally slipping into formal speech, "Who should... who's going to... which one of us..."

 

"You," Jaejoong breathes into his neck, "then me, then you, then whichever one of us can still walk—"

 

Briefly, Yoochun wonders if that's what the wheelchair outside of their room is for but that's too messed up even for the ahjummas and—

 

"Happy new year, Chun-ah," Jaejoong says quietly.

 

Yoochun glances at the clock.

 

Jaejoong presses closer.

 

"And happy Valentine's Day," he adds, too softly.

 

Flushed with sudden need and way too many complicated emotions, Yoochun gives a low growl and hoists Jaejoong on top of him.

 

The covers slip off.

 

Slow and careful, Jaejoong sits up, straddles Yoochun and fits in his lap perfectly aligned, hip to shoulder ratio matching, and wait, fuck, there's other things Yoochun should be doing.

 

So he over-pours lube into a trembling hand.

 

Wordlessly, he brings his fingers to Jaejoong's ass, wasting most of the lube along the way. It gets where it needs to go anyway, and Jaejoong shifts for better access, and then Yoochun's spreading him open with a deep groan, wishing the lights were on, wishing he could chisel this moment into every gram of his bones, wishing he could repeat it on a forever loop.

 

Instead, he slicks more lube down Jaejoong's ass, reaching his balls with a slippery pinch.

 

"You are such a liar," Jaejoong huffs, sounding irritated and pleased.

 

"I've never lied..." Yoochun says, shaky. His cock is begging, dying, impatient. "...to you."

 

Jaejoong braces his palms against Yoochun's chest.

 

And then he smiles down at him.

 

Yeah.

 

Yoochun's totally fucked.

 

"Did you book this room by mistake," he asks even though it doesn't matter.

 

Jaejoong shifts, averting his gaze.

 

Yoochun presses the tip of one finger in.

 

Sighing, Jaejoong shuts his eyes.

 

"If we lose the lawsuit," Yoochun continues darkly, slipping his middle finger past the first knuckle, "let's just move here."

 

Jaejoong's eyes snap open.

 

"Okay," he says, curling his fingers into Yoochun's skin. One of his nails scratches the nipple under their twin tattoo and Yoochun adds another finger, steadying Jaejoong's hips.

 

He scissors inside him experimentally.

 

"Seriously," Jaejoong demands, eyes flashing, "who taught you this."

 

In lieu of a reply, Yoochun angles his fingers with purpose, hoping to find the spot he's never even found on himself, and thrusts in deep and curved.

 

" _Chun-ahh_ ," Jaejoong moans in response, going from kinda angry to a shuddering mess in under a second.

 

And then Yoochun just can't deal anymore, so he pulls out his fingers, impatient as fuck, and guides his cock close.

 

Lips parting, Jaejoong nods frantically and then just gradually sinks down.

 

Yoochun breaks apart.

 

His brain's trying to form words but all that falls from his lips is Jaejoong's name, repeatedly.

 

The slow, unbearable drag intensifies, tightening around his cock when Jaejoong moves, a greedy upward shift and a rough downward slam, and Yoochun can't tell whose pulse is throbbing dangerously out of control.

 

His entire body is a thin string wound too tight, fraying from the tension and about to snap.

 

Gasping and tongue-tied, Jaejoong falls back, anchoring his hands on Yoochun's knees and baring his throat to Yoochun's gaze. He swivels his hips, wrecking Yoochun with friction, and quickens the pace.

 

All Yoochun can do is break and burn up.

 

His muscles clench on every stroke, hips bucking up rhythmically, breaking tempo only when Jaejoong makes a startled happy noise, sweat beading everywhere, and smiles at the ceiling.

 

Yoochun's lips curl, too, as do his toes, and he thrusts hard, shallow, fast; touches his fingers to Jaejoong's slick cock, presses a rough thumb to the slit, yanks urgently.

 

Jaejoong cries out and slams down so hard the bed creaks ominously, and then he's shooting strings of warm come up his chest and down Yoochun's wrists, making noises Yoochun can't even describe.

 

So Yoochun runs on pure adrenaline and tugs him down and tucks him under his body and readjusts their positions and pounds away, murmuring desperate nonsense into his neck.

 

Hoarse, Jaejoong wraps his arms and legs and practically his soul around Yoochun and urges him on until Yoochun is falling, spiraling, careening past rational thought and emptying everything into Jaejoong.

 

*

 

So.

 

This is how the new year starts.

 

With Yoochun washing the sheets in the 1876 tub, flushed and flustered and just completely mortified because, wow, in the morning light... wow.

 

No.

 

Heart hammering, he scrubs at the sheets like getting come and lube and sweat out of them will lessen the embarrassment, but—

 

"What are you doing," Jaejoong starts from the doorway, groggy.

 

Yoochun scrubs harder and does his best not to look.

 

"Yoochunnie," Jaejoong says, voice thick with sleep and sex and just...

 

No.

 

"We gotta wash these," Yoochun says and pretends Jaejoong's dressed.

 

"Why," Jaejoong grins as he crouches down next to him, grabbing the rim of the tub for support, completely naked and even more amused. He sticks his face into Yoochun's impishly. "You getting rid of proof, Yoochunnie? Like you were my virgin bride and the ahjummas can never find out?"

 

Yoochun wants to die.

 

He wants to just die, unceremoniously, quickly, right now.

 

"This isn't funny."

 

Jaejoong's features soften. "No. It's not."

 

Yoochun stops scrubbing.

 

"I'm gonna go..." he says, halfheartedly wringing most of the water out of the sheets, "hang these up."

 

Very focused, he walks out of the bathroom and through the room and ignores the bed and steps onto the freezing balcony and spreads the sheets over the railing and catches a lingering whiff of Jaejoong's scent and then, fuck, he's storming back.

 

Jaejoong's in the middle of brushing his teeth by the matching 1876 sink.

 

"We came here to recharge, right," Yoochun grunts angrily and slams the door behind him.

 

Jaejoong meets his eyes, looking adorable with his damp hair and shiny nose and the toothbrush dangling from his mouth, and he says around the bristles, "Yeah?"

 

"And instead," Yoochun continues, irrational and aggravated and suddenly really, really scared, "we had sex." His head fills with horrible possibilities. "Is this your way of saying goodbye? Are you giving up on the lawsuit and on JYJ and moving to Brazil—"

 

Jaejoong stares for a while, then lowers the toothbrush and rinses his mouth, examining himself in the mirror.

 

"Yoochunnie, I don't speak Spanish."

 

"...they speak Portuguese..."

 

Jaejoong narrows one eye.

 

"You're my charger, you idiot," he says calmly. "As long as I bring you, I just... I don't need anything else."

 

Yoochun's face heats up.

 

He makes a frustrated little noise, frozen to his spot.

 

"This is..." Jaejoong adds reluctantly, lips red and glistening, "now that we're on our own, I want to live my life honestly, you know?" His expression darkens comically. "And it's not my fault you're so fucking stupid. How many hints do you— _seven fucking years_ —how can you not—"

 

Yoochun kisses him.

 

"We can move here," he mumbles into Jaejoong's mouth, tasting mint and candor. "We wouldn't have to learn a new language."

 

Jaejoong slides a hand down Yoochun's loose shorts, grinning.

 

"And you can shuck corn for a living, sure," he nods seriously.

 

"And you can take over for ahjumma's husband in the kitchen," Yoochun agrees, shimmying out of the shorts and shedding his t-shirt to the wet floor and pressing his body into Jaejoong's like he's made of stickers.

 

"I'd rather just take you," Jaejoong says and heaves him off the ground like the lifting freak that he is and unapologetically dumps him into the tub.

 

Water spills everywhere and Yoochun breaks through the surface, choking and trying to regain his balance, spluttering obscenities.

 

Jaejoong's face dimples as he reaches down to drain the tub. "Hold on."

 

He speeds out of the bathroom, ass bouncing, and with a wet face, Yoochun just watches the suds circle the drain because, how the fuck did he go from trying to peacefully celebrate the lunar new year with Jaejoong to sitting in the tub, waiting to be fucked by Jaejoong.

 

"We didn't even go see the fireworks," he complains nonsensically the moment Jaejoong bursts back into the bathroom.

 

"I don't know," Jaejoong replies casually, joining him in the tiny stupid bathtub, "I definitely saw some fireworks."

 

His grin is so smarmy and then he holds up the mostly empty bottle of lube and Yoochun wants to punch him.

 

And kiss him.

 

And just...

 

"If you break anything," he growls, silently adding a poetic _including my heart_ , " _I'm_ going to move to Brazil."

 

"Then maybe you should come sit here," Jaejoong says, shamelessly indicating at his lap, "to be on the safe side."

 

There's nothing even remotely safe about putting his ass anywhere near Jaejoong's crotch but, stupidly, Yoochun readjusts and nudges himself between Jaejoong's skinny legs, his back against Jaejoong's chest and then his mouth is opening to protest how uncomfortable and stupid this is.

 

Jaejoong buries his fingers in Yoochun's hair, lips brushing against his nape.

 

The scent of mandarins fills the small space as Jaejoong lathers the shampoo in, hands gentle and careful and sure like when he's playing the piano and Yoochun relaxes, just unwinds, turns to putty.

 

Seconds, minutes, lifetimes later, Jaejoong's hands slide down, over his shoulders, under his arms, and wind around his waist.

 

"Up," he says, voice a strange, unfamiliar combination of husky and stern.

 

Somehow, Yoochun yields and tries to scoot up but the soles of his feet catch on the slippery porcelain and then he's just... sprawling awkwardly.

 

Jaejoong laughs softly and moves his hands from Yoochun's waist to his cock, and his hands must be magical, because Yoochun's already hard to the point of soreness.

 

He struggles to flip the ugly old faucet with his toes and Jaejoong leans them both forward to wash the shampoo off his hands.

 

"Wait, are you just gonna leave the shampoo in my—" Yoochun mumbles, annoyed, because some of it is dripping into his eyes and it stings, but Jaejoong reaches one arm over the edge of the tub and searches through the pile of bottles he dragged in.

 

And then, the ~Kim Seo-suk bottle of lube makes a reappearance.

 

Yoochun shuts up.

 

Surprisingly quiet, Jaejoong slicks him up, fingers lingering on the tip and shaft and base in mostly impatient intervals.

 

"Tell me if it hurts," he says and slips one hand under and the other over and then gentle, probing fingers are spreading Yoochun open and it's the weirdest, best feeling, and it's making him arch into and away from the touch—

 

"Are you gonna stop," Yoochun manages, throbbing, "if I say it hurts."

 

Jaejoong pauses.

 

"I'll... go slower," he offers.

 

Yoochun shuts his eyes tight, need and want splitting him in half because wow, this is even more messed up than he thought—

 

Two fingers curl into him from above and a long middle one from below and he cries out, throat constricting.

 

"Oh, my god," he babbles in English, jerking his hips. "Oh. Wait. Ah, Jae—"

 

Panting harshly, Jaejoong pulls out and moves Yoochun up, slides him onto his lap, suspended above a cock frankly too large and Yoochun's actually _helping_ because he somehow suddenly needs this, just this.

 

The tip of Jaejoong's cock nudges in, slick and hot. Yoochun's body fights and begs at the same time, so Yoochun powers through the slow burn and sinks down.

 

"Chun-ah," Jaejoong moans loudly, arms back around Yoochun's waist, one elbow brushing Yoochun's cock. "Wait. Slow—"

 

Yoochun can't do slow.

 

It hurts and burns, fills him too much and too fast, and he wants it out but he also wants it deeper and harder and faster, so he takes a shaky breath and moves.

 

Jaejoong tenses behind and below and inside him, hardens everywhere.

 

"Fuck, fuu—ah—" he shudders, burying his face in Yoochun's shoulder blade and tightening his grip to keep Yoochun from moving.

 

The less movement he's allowed, the more Yoochun feels the sparks ignite, like throwing kindling atop a raging bonfire, consuming him whole.

 

And then Jaejoong seems to get his shit together and unwraps his arms and roughly palms Yoochun's back and bends him down, still buried to the hilt.

 

The angle shifts everything, presses Yoochun's pulsing cock to his stomach and drags Jaejoong's directly across his prostate—presumably—because fuck, Yoochun's suddenly barely hanging on, hovering near a twisting, sharp orgasm.

 

His breath catches in his lungs, mouth opening in a silent gasp or scream and then Jaejoong just... stops.

 

"You have to tell me," he breathes out, clearly strained. "Which guy."

 

Yoochun's eyes snap open.

 

He can't fucking believe this possessive fucking asshole and his possessive fucking bullshit and—

 

Jaejoong bends him lower, pulling out halfway, then thrusting back in so slowly Yoochun legitimately plans to murder him.

 

"I'll stop," Jaejoong warns, voice tight, "if you don't tell me."

 

Yoochun wants to turn around and claw at something and explain that _I fucking walked in on you stroking off and I looked up so much porn—_

 

All that comes out is: "I read your manga."

 

Either Jaejoong seems to accept this or his body can't take it anymore either, because he's back to sliding out halfway and then back in, stretching every muscle in Yoochun's body and triggering all the nerve endings and Yoochun can't understand why he was ever concerned with labels like gay or straight or whatever because _oh my god_ —

 

"Please," he says in maybe Japanese, wet locks of hair smacking against his cheeks on every thrust, and he's fucking _keening_ , what the hell—

 

Jaejoong wraps one hand around Yoochun's cock and matches the slow, hard pace.

 

Yoochun can't breathe.

 

The small of his back aches and everything is too much. Jaejoong is too much.

 

So he shatters around a drawn-out, memory-wiping, almost-painful orgasm, the sound of running water muted by his heartbeat and Jaejoong's erratic _yes yes ah fuck yes_ in his ear.

 

Shaking, Jaejoong gives him a moment to recover, then brings his arms back around Yoochun's waist and lifts a hand up to scoop a dab of come off Yoochun's chest. His cock's still hard and stretching Yoochun wide, pulsing inside him way too enthusiastically.

 

Equal parts exhausted and mortified, Yoochun turns his head slightly to give Jaejoong a weirdly bashful look.

 

Jaejoong smiles.

 

"We're gonna compare yours and mine," he says, licks the come off, then gives a shallow thrust.

 

All Yoochun can do is groan, "Oh, god."

 

*

 

 

"I hope you enjoyed your stay!" the owner ahjumma beams.

 

"We enjoyed it fivefold," Jaejoong grins, obviously giddy. "Yoochunnie even enjoyed it sixfold."

 

Surreptitiously, Yoochun kicks his shin, bowing at the ahjumma and handing her the room keys with all the politeness in the world.

 

"Thank you for your hospitality," he says, super formally.

 

"And the bed," Jaejoong adds, lips stretched into a wide stupid smile. "And the tub. And the table. And the chairs. All your furniture, really."

 

The ahjumma swoons a little. "You're welcome to come back anytime."

 

"Oh, we'll be coming—" Jaejoong starts.

 

Yoochun knocks him out of the way roughly. "Thank you."

 

"In the springtime," the ahjumma calls out after them, "the reservations fill up fast, so—"

 

Jaejoong drags his suitcase back to her. "Can we make one for next week—"

 

Yoochun sighs.

 

"Hyung. We'll be in Japan next week."

 

Jaejoong's shoulders slump.

 

Then he turns around to meet Yoochun's eyes, practically imitating a supernova.

 

Yoochun just... doesn't even want to know.

 

Happily, Jaejoong scribbles something down for the ahjumma and they exchange weird, creepy grins, and Yoochun wants to be mad, but he can only try to bite back a lopsided smile and not collapse under the weight of his affection.

 

Jaejoong joins him by the front door.

 

"I left a huge tip," he confides, covertly tucking his hand in Yoochun's back pocket. "I feel bad about... the furniture."

 

Yoochun pulls down his beanie and sticks his sunglasses on. "Recharged?"

 

"...a little..."

 

Yoochun lowers his sunglasses to give him a look.

 

"...my battery drains fast..." Jaejoong pouts and zips up Yoochun's jacket.

 

"Guess you'll have to keep me close," Yoochun shrugs.

 

"Guess so," Jaejoong sighs deeply.

 

They exchange a grin and push through the door together.

 

...and then Jaejoong doubles back, puzzled.

 

"Wait, what's the wheelchair for."


End file.
